


Juwelenblüte

by Enkida



Series: Inuyasha Flashfic Livejournal Community Challenges [2]
Category: InuYasha - A Feudal Fairy Tale
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-05
Updated: 2006-12-05
Packaged: 2019-08-02 17:59:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16310000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enkida/pseuds/Enkida
Summary: A one-shot written for the "IY Flashfic" Livejournal Community





	Juwelenblüte

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wheezambu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheezambu/gifts).



> AN: I don't think this is one of my better fictions, it's all over the place and it doesn't have a point. Naraku is not a character I really enjoy writing about, as I find him sort of boring. But, I did give it my best try; I can't really write a Naraku to save my life, though, and I apologize profusely for that. "Juwelenblüte" is a play on German words. "Juwel" means "jewel" and "Blüte" means blossom. So I guess you could say it means "Jewel Blossom" … or something like that.

If I had to pick just one aspect of her that I loved best, it would be her eyes. They reflect the world like two smooth, polished pebbles, hard and unyielding no matter what might affront them. Those cold eyes are the most beautiful part of her.

But I do not have to limit myself to just one aspect; I am fortunate. Here, I can finally admire her in her entirety; I can see now that my memory of her was false. No, it is not just her eyes that are frozen; her entire being is cold and distant. Beautiful, like newly fallen snow, waiting for the first touch to disturb it; my touch… my privilege. That frozen wasteland, preserved for eternity for myself alone to admire. That is how it should be… and yet once again, she has thwarted my plans. The snow is melting rapidly under the furnace of hate, and it disturbs me to find that it is not my touch that brought it about.

The cause of this disturbance is also in my possession; a man should be so lucky as to find two jewels in one lifetime. Of course, luck has nothing to do with it, for I am no longer a man. I have transcended the limitations of the flesh, as has my beloved Kikyou. This one's eyes burn with the passion achievable only by mortality. She is more astute than she knows; she senses my attention even now. I cannot help but smile at her defiance; she still dreams of escape, imagines that she will be rescued by her knight. I savour her false hope; it is the purest ambrosia to me, though it is a poison to my beloved Kikyou. My two precious jewels.

Ah—

Again, I find I was incorrect in my assessment. My latest prize is no gem, glittering and unchanging in its hard beauty. No, this one is fragile and delicate; her beauty is fleeting, she is but a flower. The cloying scent of mortality passes daily through her full lips, revealing the truth behind the illusion; one day, even this blossom will wilt and be nothing more than a dried, cruel reminder of its former glory. She has not reached the perfection of myself and the priestess. She will ultimately be crushed, utterly destroyed, even if I do not lift a finger. Perhaps it is that knowledge in itself that makes her so delicious.

But she is destroying my Kikyou. She is thawing the ice, melting the snow with her passion. She is defacing a masterwork; it is unforgivable. The damage to my most precious prize could be permanent, even if she is only temporary. I can see the cracks in Kikyou's facade already; the fleshling has aroused her hatred, stoked it from the cold, precise perfection that it was into a furious, uncontrolled flame. That was to be my task, my puzzle to unlock- but the little bitch has already mastered the game, though she doesn't even realize that she plays it. I should kill her. I should destroy her now, before she taints my beautiful Kikyou further.

Even as I move towards her, however, she holds me in rapture, trapping me under those large eyes. She still searches for kindness, hopes for mercy... the little fool. She does not belong in the world of harsh realities; it would be a kindness to end her existence now. I feel Kikyou's gaze burning into me, bright with an anticipation that should not be there. No; I am not kind. I lower my hand. That living whore… she is nothing like my precious Kikyou. She is nothing like other women. I would think her a demon, could I not smell the constant decay of her flesh. She is weak and undisciplined, ill-mannered and overconfident. She is warmth and sunshine and a careless summer breeze; she is mortal and she revels in her ephemerality; she believes she is strong. She is everything I despise. But I cannot bring myself to be rid of her.

I must control myself; this should be mine to enjoy; these toys are mine to break. So my plans must be altered; no matter, they can still be salvaged. I will turn the girl's hope into my weapon, and turn that weapon onto my treasure; I will be the one who controls Kikyou's thaw.

It is so easy; a silent whisper of a memory here, a thought planted there… and the spectre of the half-breed rises between them. It is almost too simple; placing them together is sheer perfection. My Kikyou erodes at the fleshling with her mere existence. She creates doubt and uncertainty; she chills the warmth of the mortal girl, turning her softness brittle and easy to snap. And my beautiful Kikyou… how she tries to hold her frozen body together under the heat of her bitterness. The flower is all those things which she once was, the mortal trappings which she left behind. Perhaps I cannot overcome her, but she cannot overcome herself. I have spun my threads, and now I watch as the insects writhe in my net, bound and yet separate, slowly killing each other. It is a symphony, a feast. There is a vague regret that I do not have a more active hand in this opus—

No. I will not allow for regrets. The melody is perfect. There is no error in this glorious destruction. Ah, my Kikyou… how I wish you could remain. But you reject your superiority; you let your jealousy of the flesh consume you. It is weakness. No, you are not worthy to remain with me. You have earned your fate, my precious jewel.

And you, fleshling. I will see your bravado shattered, I will record each moment of the crumpling of your precious hope in my memory, and nourish myself from its beauty for all of eternity. You will die, indeed, but your pain will live on through me. The thought of your utter defeat brings a fierce joy to my being. For some moments, I am overwhelmed by the rapture.

It has gone on long enough; they are ready. I release the bindings on my toys. It is time for them to play. Will they tear each other apart with their bare hands? No… it would end too quickly. A thing of beauty must never be rushed. I provide them with weapons; a sharpened blade, the tip of a spear, the singing of an arrow's shaft as it flies through the air. These things contain an elegance, a beauty in their use that is unmatched by crude human fingers. I give them weapons, because I know it will prolong the symphony.

It is more beautiful than I expected. They paint with brushes of metal in a rain of ruby and scarlet. The fleshling has more resilience than I thought; still she stands despite the unyielding fervour of my priestess. Perhaps Kikyou is weaker than I thought; another proof that she is not, never was, worthy of my attentions. Gem indeed. She is a mere imitation; I should rip out her glass eyes and shatter them on the ground for telling me their lies. I wish to destroy her completely, to tear the mask from her passive face and see the truth under it, to see her writhe in disgust and longing…

They have stopped. Foolish, weak heart, I have let myself become distracted, I have not conducted them properly, and now the musicians have forgotten the melody. They stare at me both, eyes of glass and eyes of fire. This is not part of the symphony. I collect my threads; we can always begin anew. There is all the time in the world.

I pull, but there is no response. Why do they not respond? I can feel their hatred still, the chill-burn of their malice is sweet and thick in the air. They continue to stare at me. I see the threads now, they are still there… but they are severed, severed from me. They are bound to each other, now, by these threads of repulsion which have a life of their own. It seems I have given birth to another child. How interesting… it is good to know that I will have a legacy.

I open my mouth as the first arrow pierces through me, open my mouth and my eyes and my soul to my beloved Kikyou. I misjudged you, my precious jewel. You are stronger than I had guessed; I had not noticed the diamond that was hidden under your snow. How is it that the fleshling knew? How is it that she could melt that impenetrable ice, which has obstructed me for so long? Even as I feel my body dissolving into pools at her feet, she refuses to answer me. The barrier is still there; I shall never pierce it. It is the fleshling who answers my question.

"We are one," she states, as if that explanation would suffice. Now her arrow pierces me; I lose grasp over the last vestiges of my form and am lost, caught and torn away, a single thread buffeted by the maelstrom. The strings are snapped, all that is left is a broken doll. The world is black, disoriented; I am sucked through the void and reborn in a burst of pain and heat, followed by the numbing cold. I am surrounded by darkness; it is ages before I can open my eyes again and allow myself the luxury of a smile. I will have to be more careful, next time.


End file.
